


Call Waiting

by The_Uninspired



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (or several), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Slap, Angst and Feels, Brotherhood, Brotherly Bonding, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, POV Outsider, Phone Calls & Telephones, Shmi Skywalker features prominently in discussion + memory, Step-Brothers, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tatooine Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26501986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Uninspired/pseuds/The_Uninspired
Summary: Before leaving Tatooine for Geonosis, Padmé gives Anakin’s comm code to Beru.(In which Owen has the patience of a saint, and it still isn’t nearly enough to deal with his brain-addled wizard of a step-brother.)
Relationships: Owen Lars & Anakin Skywalker, Owen Lars/Beru Whitesun, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 53
Kudos: 179





	1. Call #1: A Death in the Family

**Author's Note:**

> General CW: Everything in this fic is present in canon and/or the tags content-wise, so I don't plan on adding chapter-specific warnings as I go. Just let me know if I missed something though, I like to have full content warnings available for anyone who wants them.

The comm pinged again.

Anakin hurled it against the wall.

Now was not the time. He couldn’t handle this right now.

It couldn’t be Padmé. He’d only just spoken to her, if spoken was the word for it- argued was perhaps more accurate. He’d commed as soon as they touched temple ground, eager to speak to his wife after weeks away from Coruscant, already joyous at the thought of a long weekend alone with her. She was beautiful and warm, she was _home_ , and after such a string of brutal battles all he wanted was to fuck her senseless and nap on her breast and then do that over and over again until he could bear to think again.

_Busy_ , she’d said, with the gall to act offended by his request. Busy! On the evening before her days off! She knew he’d be back this week, why hadn’t she prepared for him?

And _why_ was that damn comm still ringing?

Growling his irritation, Anakin crossed the room and dug through the pile of junk in search of the evil, noisy machine.

And that was not to even mention his _master_. Oh, it was at times like this that the title stung and burned with ancient resentment. Anakin wasn’t a padawan anymore, he was a jedi knight in his own right, a _general_. What right did Obi-wan have to make demands of him? What right did Obi-wan have to act so beleaguered and disappointed when Anakin dared to offend by having his own opinions?

Finally his hand found the stupid comm and he pulled it free. The slick silver coating of the device had been scuffed on one side from impact, but it was otherwise unaffected.

Anakin flicked the disconnect button and sighed with relief as the cursed beeping stopped.

Maybe he’d go and see the Chancellor. He tried not to barge in on the man at odd times, but surely he’d understand. Palpatine always understood Anakin, better than anyone had since he’d left his mother behind on Tatooine, and he was always so forgiving. He wouldn’t hold it against Anakin. He’d let Anakin tell him about his work, his life. He’d let Anakin vent some of his roiling burning frustration and then he’d explain it all back to him in a way that made so much more sense.

Anakin rose, brushed off his tabard, and resolved to do just that-

The comm started beeping again.

Fully intending to release some of his frustrations- loudly- on whatever unfortunate soul was bothering him, Anakin snapped the comm open and pulled it to his face. Before accepting the call though, he glanced at the code. It wasn’t one he recognized. It didn’t follow standards for the Jedi or the GAR, and it wasn’t one of the few outside contacts (or untraceable extra comms) he had given this number to.

Who the hell was calling him?

Confused and unhappy about it, Anakin accepted the incoming comm.

“Skywalker.” Anakin barked. “What is it?”

Crackling with interference, so low-fidelity there wasn’t even a visual projection to go with it, a voice said- “Anakin Skywalker?”

“That’s what I just said.” Anakin snapped. “What do you want?"

“Shmi’s son?”

Something cracked inside him. “What the hell do you want from me? Who do you think you are, saying that name to me?”

“I think I’m her son too.” The man retorted. Then, almost wryly, “I’m guessing you forgot about giving my wife your code.”

“…Owen Lars.” Anakin concluded.

“Yeah.” The man- Owen- said.

In truth, Anakin remembered almost nothing of his brief encounter with his mother’s new family. He certainly didn’t remember giving the farmers any way of contacting him.

“What do you want?” Anakin asked.

“I just thought you deserved to know,” Owen said. “Your step-father is dead.”

“My step-father?”

“Your mother’s husband. My father.” Owen said. There was no image, but Anakin could almost hear him gritting his teeth, and Anakin’s hackles rose reflexively. “Cliegg Lars. He died yesterday. I thought you deserved to know, seeing as how he was your family too.”

“He wasn’t my family.” Anakin said.

“Your mother’s family, then.” Owen said. “You didn’t know him, fine, but your mother did, and she loved him sure as anything, same as he loved her. It’s no matter to me if you care, it’s not like you’ve ever been a part of my life, save for being in mom’s stories. I just thought you deserved to be told.”

“Don’t call her that!” Anakin snapped.

“What?”

“Mom! She wasn’t your mother, she was mine.”

Owen scoffed. “She was the only mother I ever knew, and she called me her son and Beru her daughter. So forgive me for taking her word for it over the word of the boy who never once thought to so much as call in all those years.”

“Fuck you!” Anakin shouted, shaking the comm like it was Owen’s throat. “I loved her, I owed her everything, don’t you ever say I didn’t love her!”

“I said no such thing. What I did say is that you left to make your own life, and she stayed behind and made one too. She raised you for nine years, she raised me for seven. I never tried to deny you were her son, don’t you deny me.”

“Fuck you.” Anakin repeated.

“Fuck you too.” Owen snapped. “Fuck you and your fancy life that kept you too damn busy to ever check up on her. I wouldn’t have even made this call if it weren’t for owing her. She loved you, suns know why if this is what you were like as a kid. You know what her big dream was? It was for all of us to meet. For her to have her whole family under one roof, everyone she loved with her, just for a moment. So even if I don’t like you, which I don’t, I’m gonna make the offer I know she would’ve wanted me to: if you ever need anything, just comm.”

“What?” Anakin blurted out, aghast and too furious to string any more words together than that.

“You heard me.” Owen said. “If you ever need anything, comm us.”

Anakin laughed. “What the hell could I ever need from an outer-rim farmer like you?”

“Suns willing? Not a damn thing.” Owen grunted. “Now excuse me, I’ve gotta go organize a burial.”

The connection cut off with a crackle and fell abruptly silent.

Fuming, shaken, driven far enough from reason that he couldn’t think straight, Anakin threw the comm back to the ground and drew his saber with a white-knuckled fist. He stalked through the halls of the temple, crowded with evening commuters and hungry dinner-seekers, and everyone scattered in the wake of his scalding glower and dark-tinged flaring figure in the Force.

His usual salle was not empty, but by the time he reached the center of the floor, it was.

For hours Anakin ran through his forms, the most grueling and aggressive ones he knew, again and again and again in search of a perfection, a satisfaction, he never achieved.

So busy brooding on thoughts of his mother and this simple-minded little _thief_ who dared claim her for himself, he never remembered his plans to go meet with the Chancellor.


	2. Call #2: Bitter Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Call Waiting…
> 
> Anakin got an unexpected call from a man he had all but forgotten: Owen Lars, his step-brother. Owen’s father was dead, and he seemed to think Anakin would care. Anakin didn’t, as it happened, but he did have a thing or two to say about Owen calling Shmi Skywalker ‘mom’.

Two months on from his father’s death, and Owen had nearly forgotten the brief and unpleasant call to his step-brother.

To tell the truth, Owen had forgotten most of what went on in those first few days, if he had even remembered any of it in the first place. It was a bit of a blur, all overshadowed by the cold and heavy weight of his father’s sudden absence. Owen’s father had been sick for a time by then, and getting sicker every day, but that had done little to make his death any more palatable. You could feel a sandstorm brewing in the air long before it ever came upon you, but that was hardly much comfort when the sand started scouring the skin straight off your flesh.

Two months on from his father’s death, and Owen was starting to get used to it, so much as any son could. Sunrise by sunrise and sunset by sunset. There wasn’t much else a man could do. Beru was a blessing, at least, and Owen found himself falling in love all over again at her strength through everything. She’d loved his father as her own, especially since leaving the city to take up on the farm with him, but there was a steadiness to her that even his death hadn’t broken. At night she held Owen and offered comforts unasked, and in the mornings she took his hands and pulled him out of bed and did not judge him for how hard he sometimes made it. She put up with a lot these days, more than she probably should. Owen owed her more than was within his power to give her, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

So when the comms console started buzzing and beeping up a racket in the middle of the night, Owen didn’t let himself do what he wanted to- namely, to dive down beneath his furs and wait for it to shut up so he could go back to dreaming- and instead leapt to his feet and rushed to the next room to shut the damn thing off before it woke his wife.

Owen tugged his sleep-dress closer around himself- damn was it freezing this time of night- and connected the headset jack with sleep-clumsy fingers. As soon as it clicked into place the racket stopped, and Owen was tempted to just turn around and go back to bed. Dearly, desperately tempted. But he didn’t, of course. Someone was calling, regardless of the damned time of night, and so Owen would answer.

He hooked the headset over his ears, tapped to accept the call, and propped himself on the nearest stool.

“Lars Homestead,” Owen answered, feeling keenly the weight of the decades come before him. It was his grandmother that had bought this land, and nearly fifty years this line had opened with that name.

“I know. It’s Skywalker. I’ve got some important questions.”

_Suns_.

Owen rubbed a palm against his forehead and held in a groan. Now _here_ was some history Owen wished he could forget and save himself the trouble.

“They better be important,” Owen grumbled, “They woke me up in the middle of the damned night.”

“Oh.” Owen’s step-brother said. “Well, it’s daytime here.”

“Good for you.” Owen said. “What do you want?”

Owen hadn’t expected to ever hear from his far-flung family again. He’d met his step-brother once now, spoken to him twice, and Ani hadn’t seemed pleased by either occasion. And at his offer of assistance, the man had had the gall to laugh in his face. But of course, here he was, coming to collect on it anyway. If Owen were another man, he’d have allowed himself the simple pleasure of hanging up in his face.

“I got a couple questions.”

“I gathered that.” Owen said. “So start asking.”

Ani huffed loud enough to pick up on the line. “I’m getting there. Just give me a second. It’s about… influenza? Uh- inhuman-originating influenzas, yeah.”

“You’re sick?” Owen blurted, heart starting to stampede in his chest as his throat clenched. Absent or not, Ani was his brother, and the thought of his brother catching some kind of flu-

“Kinda?” Ani answered. “It’s a long story, but we’re stranded right now, and there’s a minor epidemic going around, and some of our men got it bad. I might have it too, but not so bad. It’s weird. Anyway, they’re trying to figure out why, to help come up with a cure. But we don’t have much time, and there’s stuff we don’t know, and…” Ani trailed off, audibly reluctant. Then, quieter, “I need to know everything you know about my mother’s medical history.”

Owen snorted. “Yeah, not surprised that’s the kind of thing a kid would forget.”

He hadn’t meant it as an insult- it was true, at that age Owen certainly wouldn’t have remembered that sort of thing- but Ani clearly took it as such, and snapped, “Just tell me what I need to know.”

Owen forced his annoyance down- he’d brought it on himself this time. Besides, the sooner he wrapped this up, the sooner he could go back to bed.

So he said, “’Course I’ll tell you,” And held back the instinctive addition of _brother_ to the end, given how well family discussion had gone down last time. “I can’t tell you all of it, seeing as I don’t know it, but I’ll try. You need this all from before you were born, or after?”

There was a quiet hum through the headset of distant conversation, before Ani answered, “Both. Anything could help.”

“Alright.” Owen nodded, accepting the weight of that. “I’ll go through what I know off the top of my head, and I’ll see if I can find my dad’s records. He might’ve kept some of that for if she needed a doctor.”

So Owen went through it with Ani, as chronologically as he could manage, while searching through his father’s things, all shoved into one closet where Owen had hoped he’d be able to forget about them. Shmi Skywalker had been healthier than any middle-aged Tatooine freed woman ought to be, but she’d come down with aches and pains like the rest of them. Owen wasn’t sure if any of it was _influenza_ \- he had no idea whether bantha flu had anything to do with the kind of thing Ani was going on about- but he told all he could remember about the various times their mother had fallen ill.

Luckily, it seemed that Owen’s father _had_ kept some notes- sparse though they were- and he read them down for Ani and whatever doctors he kept mumbling with.

“And then…” Owen traced a finger down to the bottom, “Five years ‘fore she broke chains she got real sick. Not much detail here though, apparently she slept through most of it.”

Ani had been humming and hahing along with his narration so far, but he was silent on this last one.

“Skywalker?” Owen prompted.

“I… remember that.” Ani said quietly, almost shaky. “I was seven. It was right after we were sold to Watto. She tried to keep working, didn’t want to get on his bad side so soon, but that just made it worse. She ended up sleeping through most of a tenday, and he… It was the first time…” Ani’s breathing was harsh and close in Owen’s ear. “…I’d forgotten about that.”

Owen’s fist clenched reflexively at the talk of his mother being _sold_ like a droid, but he tried to keep the anger out of his mouth.

“You were young,” He said, “Kids forget a lot of stuff, especially the bad stuff.”

“But she was my _mother_ , _nothing_ about her was-” Ani cut himself off abruptly.

Owen decided it was probably time to end the call- and not simply because he needed to sleep.

“Is that it?” Owen asked. “Or do you need anything else?”

Ani took a few more breaths before speaking, but he already sounded more sure of himself. “Not unless you suddenly remember a lot more than you did five minutes ago.”

Owen huffed an almost chuckle. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“In that case, I gotta go.” Ani said. Then, as an afterthought- “Thanks.”

It might not be much, but on Tatooine it was more than Owen was used to getting.

“Anything for family.” Owen said solemnly. He almost left it at that. But the sky outside was dark enough to hurt the eyes, and all this remembrance had Owen feeling uncharacteristically sentimental. “And I mean that, Ani. It’s hard enough for a kid to remember all they need to when they grow up with their own people, let alone halfway ‘cross the galaxy away. I could remember her with you.”

It just ached, the thought of her precious little Ani, losing pieces of her as the years grew longer. Pieces of their mother, dying little deaths every day, and for what purpose?

“I don’t need your help.” Ani snapped, after a long drawn out silence. Then, with a crackle-snap that made Owen’s ears pop, the connection dropped.

“Ah…” Owen threw the headset back onto the console and stood up wearily. “Damn fool.”

Owen shuffled back to bed and slipped back beneath the furs. Despite his best efforts at being quiet, Beru was propped up and watching as he entered.

“Who’s the damn fool?” She asked, not groggy enough to have only just awoken.

“I am.” Owen huffed. “I’m a damn fool for offering my hand to someone who clearly doesn’t want it.”

Beru frowned. “Your brother?”

It was Owen’s turn to frown. “How do you know it was him? Plenty of people don’t need or want my fool hand offered to them.”

Beru pulled an arm from beneath the furs and began to play idly with Owen’s hair. “Ah, but I can think of just one whose rejection would irritate you so much.”

Caught out, Owen huffed. “He needed to know about mom’s health.”

“Is he alright?” Beru asked, immediately tense with concern. Ever the caretaker, Beru, ever the watchman and the overseer. It was a shame Owen could have no children, he was starting to want one with a woman like her.

“He’s fine,” Owen said. Given his brief but strong impressions of his step-brother, Owen suspected Ani would have made it abundantly clear had his life actually been at stake. “He just needed some information no kid would have remembered.”

Beru nodded. “And then you offered your hand…”

“And he turned away.” Owen grumbled. “I knew he would. I don’t know why I even bothered.”

“Because you’re a kinder man than you like to pretend you are, darling.” Beru said. “But, and don’t take this wrongly, you’re also a bit uncompromising. If Ani’s anything like his mother, I can’t say I’m surprised you two are clashing, not with how you and mom used to tear into each other.”

Owen flushed, a little irritated and more than a little embarrassed. “I’m holding out my hand, I don’t know how much kinder he wants me to be.” He snipped.

“I know,” Beru said, “I know. But it must’ve been hard on him, leaving her so early like that. I’m not surprised he’s sore about it.”

“But he did leave.”

Beru gave him a frown, like she was disappointed. “He was just a kid, Owen, and an enslaved one. He might as well have been sold off, for all the choice he had. And if you were in mom’s place, are you telling me you wouldn’t’ve sent your son off anywhere but here?”

She was right, of course. She usually was. But Owen just pursed his lips.

“Besides,” Beru said, “He was raised far away, he didn’t grow up in the desert. He didn’t grow up like we did. And you know how most offworlders are about blood.”

Owen scoffed quietly. “They weigh blood like _sand_ ,” He accused.

“Mom didn’t raise him fully,” Beru said gently, “Maybe it’s unfair to judge him like a Tatoo.”

Unspoken was Beru’s liberal tendency to forgive offworlders for their culture, which made Owen scowl instinctively. Different languages and foods and technologies were one thing, but values he could never understand compromising on. Certainly not when it came to blood. Family was family, whenever and wherever, whether you liked it or not. Even in drought, when the water dried up, there was blood left.

“Not even all Tatoo hold by blood.” Beru continued sleepily, pulling Owen closer and pushing him down beside her. “Whether you like it or not, Owen, people hold by different things. Don’t let it keep you awake, if Ani doesn’t hold by blood the way you do.”

Owen let his wife pull him into a comfortable sleeping embrace, but his mind wouldn’t let him sleep yet.

Perhaps Beru was right. She usually was. But Owen had the feeling that, in this case, she was wrong. Owen had the nagging suspicion that his problem with his step-brother might well be just the opposite. That Ani might in fact hold blood just as highly as Owen did, but that like a little kid he held on _too_ tightly. Clinging too close to the simple truths, unwilling or unable to accept that the world turned onward and some things changed their shape, with or without you.

Regardless, Beru was right that it was out of his hands now, and that he needed to stop thinking on it.

Barring another medical emergency, Owen doubted he’d ever hear from his step-brother again.


	3. Call #3: Two Years to the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Call Waiting…
> 
> Anakin reluctantly called Owen Lars when a medical crisis required information about his mother that Anakin didn’t have. Owen provided it, along with an offer to speak of their mother more in the future. Anakin wasn’t receptive, and both men were left on unpleasant terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I actually had chapter 3 written up when I posted chapter 2, but I wasn't happy with the first draft and needed to let it sit for a while before rewriting it. But I've finally got it at a place where I'm proud of it, and chapters 4 and 5 (which I drafted up this weekend) should take much less time to polish up.
> 
> {{ CW: drinking, brief mention of past drunken abuse, discussions of grief and slavery }}

Every breath burned in his throat and burst in his lungs, and his palm was so slick he may as well have been wielding one handed.

“Hey Skywalker, so I know you- ah!”

His opponent, a knight whose name he couldn’t even remember, cut themself short to roll away from another vicious strike. Anakin pressed the offensive ruthlessly, drawing strength from the way his own body had long started to _hurt_ , and tried to relish the desperation with which the knight had to defend themself.

“I know we aren’t friends, but-” The knight scrambled to their feet and finally returned to attacking in turn- “If you need to talk, or- ah!- or meditate, I don’t ship out for another few-”

Anakin put all his strength behind a final lightning-fast lunge.

He’d been at this all day, and this knight was mostly-healed and fresh, but he was the damned jedi of prophecy.

The knight took the low-charge blade right in the belly and collapsed to the floor with a cry.

Anakin stopped, palm still sweating hot against his thrumming active saber.

“Fuck!” The knight groaned and rubbed their stomach gently. “You don’t pull any punches, do you Skywalker? Shoulda known dueling with you would hurt.” They chuckled, though it was strained. “If you want round two, you’re gonna have to give me a couple minutes. You sure you don’t wanna talk? You’re obviously unbalanced, no offense, and rumor says you’ve been here since firstmeal, so I’m not sure this strategy is working so well.”

Anakin twirled his saber, hungry for movement, wishing he could answer that question the way he wanted to.

The knight sighed. “Yeah, okay. You know, your old master’s usually in here this time of evening. Chances are by the time you’ve caught you’re breath there’ll be someone here who can actually beat you senseless. So how about you just come lay down here with me until then? Promise I won’t try to talk to you anymore.” They smiled the little distant, tiny, pleasant smile of a proper jedi knight, and Anakin wanted to strangle them.

Then the words they’d said processed, and Anakin cursed.

If he stretched out his awareness he could sense how the leash between he and Obi-wan felt a bit shorter than it had earlier, and slightly shorter every second. The knight was right. The man was getting closer.

Confronting Obi-wan was the very last thing Anakin wanted to do, so reluctantly he powered off his saber and left, not bothering to bid goodbye to the fallen knight watching him go.

All Anakin wanted was another match, another excuse to whip out his weapon and _slam_ until everything burned and hurt and lit up with life and he stopped thinking entirely. But Obi-wan would never let him, and there was no lying to that blasted man. Obi-wan would take one look at him and _know_. And worse, he’d figure it all out in an instant. He’d give Anakin those sad, empty eyes, like he’d just watched a tragic film about a dying lothcat, and say something like _Oh Anakin, I_ _’m sorry, I hadn’t realized_. Just the thought of it made Anakin’s skin crawl.

Obi-wan would never understand, _could_ never understand. Nobody could. Not any jedi, raised to fear love and love fear- even if they did claim to reject it. Padmé would try, but she’d never lost a parent like he had. And besides, she would do the same thing Obi-wan would do, take his hand and get tears in her eyes and speak to him like a battered hungry street tooka.

Even Palpatine, who was a great friend and a better man, could never give Anakin what he needed. For all his sympathy to the plight of the outer rim he was still a coreworld politician born and bred, and more than once Anakin had caught hints of the _disgust_ that underlaid his compassion. And hells, Anakin _understood_ it, planets like Tatooine were uncivilized dungpits, home to the worst kind of scum and the unluckiest of souls misfortunate enough to be stuck there. But the outer rim was Anakin’s _home_ in a way Coruscant never could be, and the filth that clogged the cramped streets of Mos Espa were his childhood friends and enemies, his _people_ , in a way Anakin had never been able to escape no matter how hard he tried. _Chosen one_ he might be, but not just that. And it made him sick just to imagine what the friends and colleagues he had now would say about how he’d been raised, how his mother had lived, how she had _died_. They wouldn’t understand it. _Nobody_ could. But they’d claim they did- they were always doing that, claiming to know him and care about him. If they cared so much, where were they then, when he was nothing but Tatooine filth himself? If they cared, why had they never done anything for his mother? Where were they when she died? Why hadn’t they saved her? If any one of these liars who claimed to care actually gave a shit, where were they when it mattered?

Anakin’s fingers shook and slipped on the keypad lock to his quarters, and it took a couple of tries to get in.

He needed something else to think about.

_Anything_.

Food, water, essentials. Right. He’d been gone all day, but the dizziness only hit him now that he was back. Don’t waste food. Don’t waste water. You never know when the next chance will come.

_Keep the body so it keeps you._

Anakin moved on autopilot, going to his closet to change from his disgusting tunics before moving to the kitchen to prepare something.

Already the thoughts were coming in again though, no matter how tired his body was.

Had last year been this bad? Anakin couldn’t remember. It must have been. He’d thought it would get easier after doing it once before. Isn’t that what they always said? It got easier with time?

Glass. Sink. Water.

With his prosthetic hand he closed the tap valve, and with his own he brought the glass up to his lips. But before he could even sip, his hand spasmed and the full glass smashed and shattered against the floor. Water, potable and clear enough to see through, flowed out from the spot of impact, weaving and waving around the shards of plastiglass, until it coated the entire kitchen in such a thin slick it could only be reclaimed with a rag.

His hand stopped spasming, but it continued to shake.

“Fuck this,” Anakin hissed, “Fuck this- E chu ta! _E chu ta! Karking danda kung_ -” Anakin cursed wildly, his Basic abandoning him in his primal _rage_. As a thousand little things all piled up, one atop the other, until he felt like he was about to explode.

_You shouldn'_ _t use that kind of language Ani._

_How come, mom? Everyone uses it all the time! Why can'_ _t I?_

_Because words are tools, darling, and curse words are like a stick. If a stick is all you have, it might do some damage. But clever words are like wrenches and blasters. Hitting a broken droid with a stick might feel good, but will it fix it?_

_… I don’t get it, mom. I shouldn’t curse because I need to fix a droid instead?_

Anakin sagged against the wall, suddenly dizzy as his mother’s voice washed over him.

He hadn’t remembered that conversation before. It must have been in his head somewhere, laying in wait, but he hadn’t remembered it until now.

There was so much he didn’t remember.

Impulsively, without letting himself have second thoughts, Anakin pulled his comm from his pocket and dialed.

Buzzing, buzzing, and then-

“Lars Homestead.”

“Was she happy?”

Anakin held the comm against his clammy cheek.

He expected some kind of question. Confusion, surprise, protests. Maybe even for Owen to hang up on him.

Instead there came a long, heavy sigh, and the clatter of a glass being set down on a clay tabletop.

“I need to go grab another drink, I’m almost out.” Owen said. “It’ll just take a minute. You go grab one too Ani, you sound too sober for this.”

Alcohol was not Anakin’s vice of choice, but he didn’t dislike it, and he really could do with being anywhere else right now. So he did just that, and rifled through the kitchen cabinets until he found the old half-full bottle of spirits Obi-wan had gifted him last year.

Anakin set the comm down on the table and went about pouring himself a very generous drink as he listened to the distant sounds of Owen bumping around. There was a crash, and some cursing, and Anakin took some bitter pleasure in the fact that Owen seemed to be having a day not much better than his.

“I’m back,” Owen said. “You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Beru’s out looking after a friend’s daughter tonight.” Owen began unprompted. “She hates to see me drink, so I try not to more than a few times a year. She says I remind her too much of her father.”

Anakin tensed up reflexively, and the table shook a little as his emotions roiled up in the Force. “Oh yeah? And what did her father do to her?”

“Plenty of things,” Owen said grimly, “None of which I do to her, I swear to you on every drop of water I farm, though I appreciate the concern.”

“But you remind her of him.” Anakin pressed.

“Me and every other human male that gets a little too loud when they’re liquored up,” Owen grunted. “I told you, I keep it to a couple nights a year, and I warn her so she can leave if she needs to. I take my oaths seriously brother, I’m not the kind of scum to mix blood only to spill it.”

There was a lot there- a lot of sharp reactions clattering around in Anakin’s buzzing head. Loudest among them, so sharp it stung-

_Mix blood_.

It was a phrase Anakin hadn’t heard in years, not since he’d left Tatooine behind as a child. He’d all but forgotten it until he and Padmé decided to marry, but even then he’d forgotten all the details. He’d never witnessed an exchange of oaths as a child, so when it came time to take Padmé as his wife he’d remembered Tatooine traditions only in generalities. There was blood spilled and mixed together, binding words spoken- though he didn’t know what they were. He’d told Padmé about it once, playing it off as a joke, and she’d laughed with him and called the tradition _barbaric_.

And yet Owen said the words and it was like a warm breeze in Anakin’s face. He could hear his mother’s voice in his ears saying those words, _mix blood_.

_After water evaporates you wouldn’t even know it had been there, but blood stains the rocks and the sand long after the moisture has left it._

_Why do you think that is, Ani?_

“You okay there brother?” Owen asked, and Anakin realized how long he’d been silent and stewing. There it was again, _brother_. It bothered him, but it was far from the most important thing bothering him.

“Was she happy?” He asked again.

Anakin could hear Owen taking a long drink before answering that one, and Anakin decided to pour himself more too. Owen was right. He was too sober for this.

“Going right for the big one, huh?” Owen muttered.

“Well? Was she?” Anakin asked.

“Yeah.” Owen answered softly. “She was real happy.”

Anakin’s mouth was sour with alcohol. He swallowed hard. “You’re sure?” He pressed. “She was really good at pretending, she pretended all the time. She would act happy even if she wasn’t, and then I’d catch her crying at night when she thought I was asleep, or I’d hear that she’d been down to the healer without telling me anything was wrong.”

Owen was quiet a moment before replying.

“Yes Ani, I’m sure. She was happy. I know she was.” Owen said. His voice was steady, almost soothing. It reminded Anakin of a storyteller. It reminded him of- of his _mother_. It was the voice his mother used when comforting him. But Owen had never witnessed such a thing. She must have comforted Owen too, sat him down and brushed the sweaty hair from his face and spoken to him like this. Spoken to him with a mother’s voice. Spoken as a mother to her son.

“Why was she only happy after I was gone?” Anakin groaned, rubbing at his face and pulling at the loose strings of his roughspun tunic. “Why was she-” His voice caught hard as he realized what he was saying. “Why- why was she only happy once I was gone?”

His head fell into his hands as tears welled up in his aching eyes.

He’d tried to deny it but it was true, wasn’t it? His mother really had found a new family. A new son. He’d left her behind, and she’d just… moved on.

Anakin started to weep, and he was too upset and distracted to be self-conscious about Owen witnessing it.

He could hear the voices in his head. Padmé, assuring him that _of course your mother was happy with you, why would you think she wasn_ _’t? She loved you!_ And Obi-wan, saying something useless and zen about how _happiness is relative, young padawan, and your mother finding peace in a later stage of life does not diminish the value of the time she shared with you_. And the Chancellor… what would Palpatine tell him? Exactly what he wanted to hear, probably. Palpatine and Anakin had very similar minds and agreed on most things. He would probably voice the shameful suspicion Anakin was already fighting down: _What does this step-brother of yours know of your mother, Anakin? Surely you, her own son, knew her best. If she was not truly happy even with you, how could this pretender make her happy?_

Anakin started to cry harder at that thought. Because he might be jealous, and selfish, and petty, and a hundred other things that made him a terrible jedi, but he hated to think that his mother might _never_ have gotten the life she deserved.

“Well,” Owen said gruffly, “I imagine it’s because she had to live every day of her life in chains, under the thumb of cruel masters, in fear that at any time her son could be stolen away from her never to be seen again- or worse.”

“W-what?” Anakin blurted, taken aback.

“I imagine food was scarce,” Owen continued blithely, “So she probably spent long hours wondering how she was gonna feed you. She probably went to bed hungry often enough so that you could eat. Not to mention water. Even during wet years the slave rations are too little. She probably worried that you would grow up weak or ill, for not getting enough water when you were still growing.”

“What are you talking about?” Anakin choked out.

“I’m _talking_ about all the reasons our mother was damned _miserable_ for the entire time she knew you!” Owen shouted, fuzzing out the comm connection at the edges with the sudden spike in volume. “Of _course_ she wasn’t fucking happy! How many slaves do you think are _happy_ with their lives? How many mothers of hungry children do you think are _happy_ with their lot? Twin suns, Ani, what kind of seaworld fantasy planet do you live on, thinking she’d be _happy_ living the way she did?”

Anakin buzzed and burned and it was so much all at once that he couldn’t even act on it. The picture frames shook and clattered on the walls but he couldn’t even make himself _move_.

“Why the hell do you think she shipped you off first chance she got?” Owen roared. “She had _shit_ , and she _knew_ it, and she wanted better for you! She wanted you to have the kind of life where you could even think to _ask_ stupid questions like that!”

“I’m not _stupid!_ ” Anakin finally snapped, slapping the table hard enough that Owen must have heard it all the way on Tatooine. “I’m not some soft-skinned coreworlder who thinks anti-slavery laws will somehow stop the Hutt Empire! It’s not _stupid_ to want my own mother to be happy, and it’s not _stupid_ to hope that I wasn’t some- some miserable _burden_ on her! I loved her, and she loved me, don’t _fucking_ say that she didn’t!” At some point in the explosion he’d surged to his feet, and Anakin made use of the mobility to kick at the table hard with his booted heel.

“I didn’t say any of that, so maybe you _are_ stupid!” Owen shouted back. “I didn’t call you stupid Ani, and I never said anything about mom not loving you, cause _I_ _’m_ not stupid! Fuck, do you know how many years I spent being jealous of a damn kid I’d never met? I was a grown man, on my way to starting my own family, and I was still asking myself how in the hell I could ever live up to her _darling Ani._ A day didn’t go by without her talking about how much she loved you, or how proud she was, or how she hoped you were doing well and going on adventures and starting a family!”

“She missed me?” Anakin blurted.

“Suns above- of _course_ she missed you!” Owen cried. “You wanna talk about crying herself to sleep at night, I saw her do it often enough, every time your birthday came ‘round or those wizards of yours made the news!”

“But you said she was happy!” Anakin protested, hating the image of it- hating the ugly twist in his stomach. Hating the feeling of being a kid again, watching her from the shadows, completely powerless to change the things that plagued her.

“She was happy generally, yeah, much as anyone is.” Owen said.

“Oh. That’s good, that’s…” Anakin breathed. “She… she really missed me?”

It felt like a revelation.

If anyone had ever asked him, _do you think your mother misses you_ , he’d have said- of course. Of course, she’s my mother, she loves me. Of course.

But it felt like an _earthquake_ to hear Owen say it. To know, finally, that it was true.

Anakin fell back into the chair and started to cry again.

“You must have known that.” Owen said.

“I didn’t know,” Anakin shook his head, “I never- I never _knew_.”

Life had been so hard back then- though he hadn’t realized most of it at the time. There had been so many rude awakenings in the past few years, going toe to toe with slave empires and freeing captives and defending struggling little planets. So many things that he simply hadn’t thought about as a kid came into sharper focus, and none of it was good. Was it any wonder that he wondered? Anakin would have resented himself, had he been in her place. And what loving mother jumped so eagerly at the chance to be rid of her only son?

_She had shit, and she knew it, and she wanted better for you._

“Oh Ani…” Owen sighed. “She loved you so much. Losing a child is one of the hardest things to live through. That she did it for you, to give you the chance she didn’t have, goes far enough in showing just how much she loved you.”

“And I just left her.” Anakin said. He grabbed the bottle in front of him and took a long drink, hating how weak and griefstricken he felt. “She was my mother and I just left her behind and never looked back.” He took another drink and then wiped at his eyes. He was still buzzing with all kinds of thoughts he hadn’t thought in years, if he ever had at all. “She was my blood. My only blood. And I left her alone in the desert.” Anakin keened, a wordless cry of guilt and grief, and put his head down on the table.

“You did what she wanted you to.” Owen assured him, but it wasn’t enough.

“What kind of son am I?” Anakin wailed. “I wasn’t there to protect her! I just left her behind!”

“You were just a kid.” Owen said. But it was short, tart- Anakin bristled.

“You blame me, don’t you?” He accused. “You blame me for her death!”

“No I don’t.”

“You do!” Anakin cried. “I left her behind and only came back in time to collect her body! You resented me for being her favorite, and now you-”

“It’s not her _death_ I blame you for!”

Anakin smiled poisonously. “Oh yeah? What is it then?”

“Guess.” Owen snapped.

“I’m not playing with you!” Anakin roared.

“And I’m not playing with you!” Owen shouted back. “Really, what do you _think_ I blame you for? It shouldn’t take you long to figure it out, seeing as it’s exactly the same thing you blame yourself for!”

“You said it was what she wanted!” Anakin protested. “You said she wanted me to leave!”

“Of course she did!” Owen exclaimed. “She wanted you to go off and make a life for yourself! But I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a call home every once in a while! After a couple of years in that magic cult of yours you’d think they’d let you use an interstellar comms relay for five damned minutes! You’d _think_ , given how fancy and expensive your friend’s gown was when you paid us that _lovely_ visit, you could afford to come back and _free your own damn mother from slavery!_ ” Owen screamed.

In a black wave that nearly blinded him, Anakin was overcome with the physical need to _hurt_ Owen. To slam into him, throw him to the floor, and grapple until they were both bloody.

As it was, Anakin could only dig his fingernails into his palm and clench his jaw until it hurt.

He opened his mouth-

Excuses ran around in his head-

_They wouldn’t let me. The jedi don’t recommend connections to family. We don’t earn real salaries. Obi-wan would have talked me out of it. No one in the Core cares about Tatooine. Nobody cares about slaves._

So comforting in their own bitter way. But now they seemed flimsi thin and pathetically shallow.

Had he ever even tried?

“You want to talk about family? About _blood_?” Owen spat. “Every half-penny my father made for two whole years went into mom’s price, on top of what mom could earn for herself. Every single one. We had to _buy_ her if we didn’t want to risk the farm for freeing her. And that was just for the down. I’m _still_ into the Hutts for a tenth of it, and it’ll be years at this rate ‘fore they finally cut us loose. She wouldn’t let dad mix blood with her ‘fore freeing her, didn’t want him tied to slavery, but she was as good as blood the day she agreed to let him try. He was just two generations free and he dealt with the Hutts. For _her_.”

“I…” Anakin struggled to breathe. Struggled to speak. He was never good with words, but hardly ever did he struggle to say anything at all. Eloquent he was not, but rarely was he so _frozen_. Anakin lived to move, to act, to race, to run, to fight. But he was stuck now, pinned under the nauseating weight of everything.

_It_ _’s time for you to let go_ , she’d said.

His mother had laid out two choices in front of him: stay, or move forward. Both of them had known it was no choice at all, not for him.

But suddenly, suffocatingly, Anakin felt the reality of hundreds, thousands of other options he could have- _should have_ taken.

Why had it been one or the other? Why, when he was off to become a jedi, when he’d sworn to return and free them all- why had she still told him to let her go?

“She told me to let go.” He said faintly.

Owen sighed heavily. “From the moment she realized she was pregnant, our mother had to accept the fact that you would be taken from her at some point or another. Most slaves are separated from their mothers. Very few are ever reunited. I doubt it ever even occurred to her that you would meet again once you left.”

“And after she broke chains?”

“I don’t know.” Owen said with another sigh. “We used to argue about it, until dad and Beru made us stop. She seemed to think it was better not to find you. She thought that if you ever came back, you wouldn’t leave again. She didn’t want that for you.”

It stung so sharp Anakin ought to be bleeding.

It had never occurred to him, even in the depths of his guilt, that his mother might have faced the same kind of choice he had.

“And you? You thought she was wrong?”

“You were my brother, whether I’d met you or not.” Owen said, indignant. “I wanted to know you. I deserved to know you. And I always thought she was being too superstitious about the whole thing. Plenty of spacers come and go from the desert as they please, I figured you’d be no different.”

“But you hate me.” Anakin said, baffled. “You were jealous of me. You resented me. Why would _you_ want me to come back?”

Owen huffed, nearly _chuckled_. “’Course I was jealous, I was a second son- by order if not by age. And of course I resented you, I thought you were doing something stupid and selfish. But I don’t _hate_ you, Ani. I hardly think I know you well enough for that.”

“But you wanted me back.” Anakin repeated, no less confused. Owen wasn’t some besieged planet, nor some starstruck fan. He could care less for the prophecy or the Hero With No Fear- hell, given the way Owen talked about _wizards_ like the outer-rim hick he was, he might not even believe in the Force, and Anakin could remember well enough how little Tatooine concerned itself with the Republic. If even Anakin’s own _mother_ hadn’t wanted him back home, why in the hells would _Owen_? Owen, who didn’t even like him?

“Do you live by blood or don’t you?” Owen asked impatiently. “Beru told me you probably wouldn’t, raised away like you were, but you _talk_ like you do.”

“Why am I _special_?” Anakin demanded, desperate to find the source of it. Everyone in the galaxy wanted _something_. The masters wanted compliant slaves, the mother wanted healthy children, the jedi wanted their model jedi and their precious Chosen One _,_ the senate wanted their pretty headlines, the clones wanted to live to see the next battle, the wife wanted a husband who would love her unconditionally. Anakin wanted his mother- and if that meant begging for scraps from Owen, he would do it. But what did Owen want? What could Owen possibly want from him?

Owen laughed. “You’re not special, Ani. Hard to be special in a galaxy as big as this one. But my mother was your mother, which makes us brothers. And maybe that don’t mean a thing in the core, where no one goes hungry and the officials do more than collect Hutt protection funds and there’s a big friendly government that everybody all gets together and votes for. But I’m Tatoo, always have been, and the last thing to dry up in a drought is blood.”

“I could be anybody.” Anakin protested.

“But you’re not.” Owen said. “You’re my brother. Beru thinks that won’t mean much to you, but I think she’s wrong. I think mom was half right. Once you came back, once you realized she was wrong about you needing to go and never look back, you _haven_ _’t_ left since. You’ve called me twice now, though I know you don’t like me and I don’t like you.”

“Because I had to. For medical reasons.” Anakin defended.

“Blood.” Owen said firmly. “And today?”

Anakin shifted and clutched the bottle in his hand. “I…” He swallowed hard. “No one else knew her. I couldn’t listen to anyone else tell me _sorry_ when they never even knew her.”

Owen snorted. “Family. Blood.”

Anakin didn’t know what to say.

“You went ten years without learning more about her. Hell, you got through the first anniversary by yourself.” Owen said. “But this year you called me. Why do you think that is?”

Anakin bristled at yet another leading question. This was starting to feel like a damned padawan lesson.

“Do you ever shut up?” He groaned, “I can’t stand you.”

Owen burst into noisy laughter. “That’s certainly something, coming from you!”

It came over him again- the powerful urge to tackle Owen and force him to submit. But it was softer this time, didn’t curdle in his stomach. It reminded Anakin of dueling with Obi-wan, back when Anakin was fifteen or sixteen. In that brief window of time when Anakin still had so much to learn but was starting to seriously rival his master. They’d been more like brothers than master and padawan then, their duels so often devolving into childish cheating brawls as they yelped and insulted each other and scrabbled for petty victories.

It had been years since he’d felt such strong camaraderie, such brotherhood, with his former master. It blew the breath out of his lungs to realize he was feeling some fraction of that here and now with _Owen_.

The irritation drained out of him, and Anakin felt suddenly, cripplingly _tired_.

Perhaps drinking most of a bottle of liquor and shouting about his personal issues after a long week of two-hour nights wasn’t actually advisable behavior.

“Owen…” Anakin hesitated, uncomfortably aware of his own sour tongue forming the name, “Will you tell me more about her? About m- our mom?”

Owen breathed into the speaker for a while. Then, softly, “Yeah, I can do that, long as you don’t mind me getting emotional about it. I mentioned I’m a loud drunk, I left out that I’m a sentimental one too, though I guess you could have guessed that. Just give me a minute, I need another drink. Something to eat too, I can’t remember if I ate dinner or lunch. I might’ve just drank it. That can’t be good…”

Owen’s voice faded out as the man wandered off, presumably to the kitchen, mumbling all the while.

Anakin stood up, clumsy with exhaustion and intoxication, and with a light force shove his chair flew back to hit the wall and snapped. Oops. At least it made room on the floor for Anakin to sink down and lay out spread-eagled, half under the table and half on the carpet. A bit more petty force usage and he’d collected a number of pillows which he positioned around himself in a pleasing way before collapsing to the floor.

It was rare that Anakin felt so _calm_ after such a vicious outpouring of negative emotions. Obi-wan always left him angry and bitter, Padmé left him in circles of doubt and frustration, and even Palpatine, while good at focusing his mind, tended to leave him a bit sour and unhappy about his place in the world. But now… Anakin felt wrung out. Grieving, but not unbearably so. Irritated, but not violently. Confused, ashamed, guilty… but not in the usual way that seemed to drown out his ability to think straight. As if shouting back and forth with his step-brother had managed to do what a lifetime of meditation and coaching from Obi-wan had not, and released Anakin’s emotions into the Force.

“Alright Ani, I’m back!” Owen called. His voice was a little funny, echoing to Anakin’s ears from over the top of the table, and Anakin snorted. “Oh yeah, I forgot to ask you- I got a real important question, if you’ve agreed to be my brother now. ‘Cause I was talking with the Darklighters the other day, you know, and they said something funny ‘bout the GAR wizards, and I realized something-”

“Yeah?” Anakin asked, amused by how the man was going on and on now that the topic had moved onto safer things. “What’s the question?”

“Is Ani really short for _Anakin_?”

Owen’s voice was so full of doubt and incredulity that it boggled the mind.

“What?!” Anakin yelped. “Of _course_ it’s short for Anakin! Anakin Skywalker, that’s me! I’m a person and my name is Anakin! No one calls me Ani, no one ‘cept my mom and my wife!”

Owen’s howls of laughter echoed through the room, and Anakin propped himself up enough to glare at the comm, as if the energy of it could somehow reach him.

“Shut up!” Anakin snapped. “It’s not funny! Why is that so funny?”

“Mom really named you-” Owen stopped to gasp for breath- “She named you _big-small_?”

“That’s not- you’re not-” Anakin stumbled over his words, flushing hot. “That’s not how it translates and you know it!”

Owen cackled. “How would you rather I translate it then? _Keystone_? _Spark-plug_? _Overgrown child_ does seem fairly accurate, so maybe-”

“Like you’re any better, _fireplace_?” Anakin shot back.

“I prefer _hearth_ , actually.” Owen said, with the audacity to sound almost _smug_. “’S a good name, solid name. Good name for a man to have. And Beru’nellith, _moist autumn_. It’s a good pair of names for a Tatooine family.”

Anakin snorted. “Moist?” He’d forgotten a good amount of Tatooine Creole over the years, and he’d never been quite fluent in the first place- Basic and Huttese had been more necessary, more _valuable_ , and so his mother had focused her energies on ensuring he was fluent in those, even if neither were her own native tongue. He’d completely forgotten what _Beru_ meant. “Moist?” He asked again, chuckling.

Owen grunted. “You’ve been gone too long if you think a name like that is something to make light of.”

Anakin frowned.

He had been gone a long time, hadn’t he?

Some things had never faded. How wasteful fountains seemed to be, how cold the snow was. He’d never quite shaken the little voice in the back of his head that estimated sentient prices in wupiupi.

But he’d learned to call Obi-wan his _master_ , separating the two meanings in his mind so that it did not usually sting to do so. He’d stopped counting the seconds when he took real water showers, and stopped feeling guilty about the cost of it and how many mouths could be watered with it afterward.

And somehow, after so many years, Anakin had forgotten his own name.

As a child he’d been so proud of it, hadn’t he?

_In every riot, one hand throws the first stone._

_In any crash, one ship is the first to stop._

_In a song, one voice sings the first note._

_At the start of everything big is something small, and every small thing can become something great._

_Great from small._

_Anak uchu Akin._

He used to get into fights over that name, fights that started with the same kind of incredulous amusement as Owen’s. _I_ _’m a person and my name is Anakin!_ that little boy would shout, and in doing so declare himself, _become_ himself. Win or lose, he would be proud, because through every small challenge he became greater. Uchu akin, anak.

He hadn’t had those fights, had _this_ fight, since leaving Tatooine. Tatoona was spoken nowhere in the galaxy but on Tatooine, and though _Anakin_ had many translations in other languages, none were notable or true. No one Anakin knew had any idea what his name meant. They didn’t even know it was supposed to mean something. Even Padmé didn’t know.

But Owen did.

Owen knew his name.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Anakin apologized, and it was easier to say than he thought it might be. “Beru… it’s a wonderful name. I hope it keeps you two well.”

The words fell from his thick and clumsy tongue. He barely even recognized the shape of them. They came from somewhere instinctive, half-forgotten, that he could never have explained.

“Thank you Ani.” Owen said sincerely. “Anakin. I hope your blessings keep you well too, Anakin Skywalker. ‘Anak uchu akin’, right? She used to say that. I only just made the connection.”

Anakin nodded. Then, voice a little rough, “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Owen hummed, and Anakin could hear the clattering and splash of the man pouring himself more liquor. Anakin wondered if he could use some more himself, but decided that standing up seemed more trouble than it was worth.

“You still want me to tell you some stories?” Owen asked.

“Yeah,” Anakin said, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah,” Owen said, “I have nothing better to do. I was just sitting here and feeling sorry for myself. Better that I make myself useful.”

So Anakin sunk back down to the floor, closed his eyes, and listened attentively to Owen tell him about the woman his mother had become- the woman he had never had the chance to know.

He listened to his brother’s voice, entranced and heartsick and laughing as he cried, until he could listen no more and fell asleep.


	4. ## Hold ##

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Call Waiting…
> 
> On the second anniversary of his mother’s death, Anakin impulsively called Owen to ask after his mother and the life she’d had after he left Tatooine. Anakin learned some things about his mother, Owen, and himself that he’d rather not have known… but he also learned some wonderful things. For example: Owen Lars truly is his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief glimpse into Anakin's life meanwhile...

“He doesn’t listen to me,” Anakin was cursing, “He never listens to me!”

And with a warm smile wrapped in a soft wrinkled face, the Chancellor of the Republic leaned closer and placed a kind hand on Anakin’s knee.

“It’s so difficult, when the people we respect do not respect us.” Palpatine murmured mournfully, shaking his head. “I am sorry, Anakin, that Obi-wan is not the friend he should be. No true friend would be so dismissive, especially of one with your amazing talents. You are wise and powerful beyond your years, and it seems obvious to me that his jealousy and resentment are overriding his friendship with you. He doesn’t care for you, Anakin, not the way he should. Perhaps… perhaps it is simply that the Jedi are incapable of having real friends. Ah- but you are a true friend to me, my boy. I overstep myself. Perhaps I have simply misunderstood. My sincerest apologies.”

Palpatine’s smile deepened with a hint of chagrin, and those warm eyes twinkled with humor.

Anakin’s stomach clenched.

He’d come to his long time mentor for comfort after a frustrating mission, expecting the same warmth and righteous validation he always did. But for some reason the Chancellor’s comfort was not as comforting as it usually was.

It wasn’t the words being spoken, for they were words Palpatine had said to him a hundred times over the past decade. And it wasn’t even that Anakin thought him to be lying, for in Anakin’s thrumming angry heart he could feel every word ring true.

But he could almost hear his mother’s voice in his ear-

_The truth is bittersweet at best, it is lies that are like sugar milk. No one would drink sour poison, Ani, so even the greatest fools mix it with sweetness._

Ever since that long, hard talk with Owen, Anakin’s mother had been speaking to him more and more, reaching out from the depths of buried childhood moments to remind him at every turn of the things a young and homesick boy had tried to forget.

Anakin had no idea if that had anything to do with this, but for whatever reason, for the first time that Anakin could remember, he found that his friend’s effusive support rang hollow and strange.

_‘Course I was jealous._

As if there were words unspoken, confessions left buried, things to be said that were not being said.

_Of course I resented you._

Surely Palpatine couldn’t truly find Anakin so faultless? Not when even his wife took some pleasure in nagging him and having fun at his expense.

_You_ _’re not special, Ani._

Had Anakin’s friend ever truly disagreed with him before? Ever sided against him in any argument? Had Palpatine ever criticized him, ever judged him, for anything besides not following the man’s own advice closely enough?

 _But_ _…_

_I don_ _’t hate you Ani._

What did the Chancellor want from him?

_You’re my brother._

Everyone wanted something, even Padmé. Everyone chose Anakin for a reason, for some payout, some benefit. Only Owen was the exception, and Palpatine wasn’t Anakin’s blood.

_I know you don_ _’t like me, and I don’t like you…_

Anakin tried to stuff down his discomfort, let go as best he could of the unkind doubts that would surely hurt Palpatine’s feelings to know he was having.

_…But I don’t hate you, Ani._

He swallowed hard, unable to rid his mouth of the bitter taste of souring sugar milk.


	5. Call #4: High Suns on Tatooine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Call Waiting…
> 
> Some time after the harrowing and heartwarming call between Anakin Skywalker and his brother Owen on the second anniversary of their mother’s death, during which they finally made peace with their intertwined past and grudges, Anakin found himself questioning the sincerity of his dear friend Chancellor Palpatine in light of his recent revelations and introspection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait ya'll. Real life got a bit realer than I'd prefer, and fanfic fell by the wayside. But I'm back! Shoutout to AntaresVega for the wonderful comment and kick in the backside I needed to remind me I've got an outstanding WIP in desperate need of an update.

Owen and Beru were both in the workshop when the console chirped, but it was Owen sitting at the bench, so it was Owen that answered it.

“Lars Homestead,” He greeted without looking up from the broken filter disassembled and spread out in front of him, “That you, Darklighter?”

“It’s Anakin.”

Now _that_ drew Owen’s attention.

“Ani, it’s good to hear from you! It’s been too long.” Owen greeted. Beru had perked up too, and watched him now with surprise in her eyes and a growing smile. Owen shooed her off and turned away, determined not to be embarrassed.

To be honest, Owen’s genuine pleasure at the unexpected call surprised even himself. It had been months since he and his brother had sat down, drank themselves silly, and finally worked through the worst of their disagreements. And while it hadn’t been an active thought in his mind, Owen realized now that he’d been anxious in the time since to hear from him again.

“It has been a long time, huh?” Ani muttered. “Seems like a lifetime ago.”

“You doing alright?” Owen asked.

“I’m fine.” Ani replied sharply, not as convincing as he probably thought he was.

“And your wife?”

“My what?!” Ani yelped. “What are you- how did you know?”

Owen didn’t chuckle, on account of not wanting to derail the interrogation with his brother’s temper, but it was a close thing.

“You told me yourself last time we talked.” Owen said. “Not surprised you don’t remember it though, we were both pretty out of it by then.”

Ani had no response to that. It was only his faint breathing over the line that made Owen sure he hadn’t just hung up in offense.

“You sure you’re okay brother?” Owen asked. “Is there anything you-”

“I’m _fine_. I already said I was fine!”

Owen put down his tools and drew himself up, ready to go in on Ani again, but Beru stepped up to the console beside him and placed a placating hand on his shoulder.

“Hello Ani, this is Beru.” She said. “Or should I call you Anakin?”

More silence, for long enough that Owen turned and rolled his eyes smugly at his wife.

Then-

“Ani’s alright.” His brother said.

“Perfect.” Beru said brightly. “That’s what mom always called you, so I won’t have to learn any new habits. Now, your wife is Padmé Naberrie, right? That lovely girl you brought with you?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s her.”

“I’d hoped so,” Beru said, “She was so polite. She helped me with the chores, even though she didn’t know the first thing about a Tatoo moisture farm.”

There was only one seat at the console table, and Owen was already sitting in it. But rather than drag over her stool, Beru carefully maneuvered herself into Owen’s lap, balancing on his thighs sideways with one arm around his shoulder. She smiled down at Owen, like she was happy for him, and Owen pulled her into a kiss while they sat through another of Ani’s silences.

“What does your wife do for work? Is she a jedi too?” Beru asked, when the silence had drawn on too long. “She acted more like a merchant than a soldier, but they say jedis are strange.”

Owen frowned and furrowed his brow meaningfully, unsure why his wife kept pushing and pushing with inane questions Ani clearly wasn’t interested in. Beru just shook her head at his confusion and winked knowingly. Owen sighed. Whatever she was doing, she seemed to know what it was, even if he didn’t.

“She’s a senator.” Ani answered finally. Then, after a pause, “She’s the best senator in the Republic. Most politicians are scoundrels, but she really cares. She wants to help people.”

“She sounds incredible.” Beru said. “The biggest problem in this galaxy is that nobody helps each other.”

Ani gasped, a fuzzing over the line. “Mom- mom used to say that.”

“That she did.” Beru agreed. “She taught that to Owen when they became family, and she taught it to me when I mixed blood with the Lars.”

“Oh.”

“When did you and Padmé become husband and wife?” Beru asked. “Were you family when you came here?”

“No, no. It was right after, though. On her home planet.”

“That sounds lovely. Where is she from?”

“Naboo.”

“Wow.” Beru raised her eyebrows and brought a hand to her heart- and not merely to make Owen roll his eyes at her theatrics. Owen could grudgingly admit to being impressed himself. Naboo was more fantasy than reality out here on Tatooine. He’d never met anyone who had even been there, and he’d heard so many outlandish stories of the distant core world that he couldn’t be sure what it was actually like in the slightest.

“So your wife is Naboo?” Beru asked.

“Nubian.” Ani corrected. “They don’t call things the way Tatoo do, even if it sounds like they should.”

“I’m sure they do most things differently there.” Beru said. Then, with a kind of inoffensive casualness that Owen was sometimes jealous of, she asked, “Are family-mixing ceremonies secret on Naboo?”

“No. Usually their marriages are huge. Sometimes they’re even broadcast on the ‘net.” Ani explained bitterly. Owen cringed, feeling sympathy for his brother. It must have been hard to grow up with the quiet intimacy of Tatooine, only to be asked to mix blood so publicly for his wife.

“Naboo really is strange!” Beru exclaimed, chuckling, and to Owen’s surprise Ani began laughing along with her.

“It really is!” He exclaimed. “Padmé’s family have been Nubian for millennia, and she lived in Naboo’s capital city until a few years ago. So many things she does and says and _wears_ are so strange to me, but when I say that she looks at me like _I_ _’m_ the crazy one!”

Owen laughed along with his brother, shaking his head. “You should have mixed blood with a good desert girl like I did, Ani. At least when Beru looks at me like I’m being crazy I know she’s probably right!”

Beru chuckled and bopped his head lightly. “Oh come now Owen, not everyone can be so boring as us, staying in one place with our own people. I think it must be quite brave and exciting to mix family with someone from another planet! Your own dining table becomes your own little republic.”

Ani laughed harder. “Some days it feels like it! It certainly doesn’t help that she’s a politician! I know just enough about politics to dig myself a hole for her to push me into.”

“Ah, no. You see brother, _that_ is not so strange.” Owen said. “Even a nice cactus flower would do that to you.”

“Family everywhere is like that, I expect.” Beru said with a smile. “Family is closest to your heart, so family knows just how to trip you up when they’ve decided you deserve it.”

“And the dining table is a battleground so universal I’m sure that even the Hutts say _e chu ta!_ at dinner as often as _pass the pickled gecko_.” Owen said.

“Ha!” Ani cried. “Now that’s a thought! I’d like to see Gardulla’s wife criticizing her manners at the table! Not that I can even think of something a Hutt might consider bad manners, not when- _hang on a second_ -”

For several breaths there was a staticky rumpling, as Ani moved about with his active comm in his hand.

“- _peedunka-_ ” Ani grumbled as his voice reappeared. “Sorry, some drunk idiots were walking past my window so I closed it. I know the Argon District never sleeps, but who the hell is out in Temple Square this time of night?”

“Oh yeah, this is the first time you’ve called us at a respectable hour.” Owen realized. “Considering the suns and moons out here, it’s gotta be cold morning over on Coruscant. What are _you_ doing awake?”

“Nothing. Just had trouble sleeping.”

 _Oh_. That was Owen’s answer then, to what the hell was wrong with his brother. At least it was nothing serious. Suns knew Owen had his fair share of brief sleeps after what happened to their mother. Beru gave Owen a little clever smile which might have been smug on anyone else, and Owen rolled his eyes but held her closer. Trust his natural born farmer wife to draw water even from the stone that was their brother.

“Well lucky for you it’s midday here, and Owen and I are just working on the busted vaporator. Your call has been a welcome distraction.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Ani asked, and true to spirit Beru let him shift the subject without faltering.

“If we knew that we wouldn’t still be fixing it during high suns, when I know I’d much rather be napping.” Beru said without any real frustration in her voice. Owen knew she _was_ frustrated, but he had never been able to figure out how she could put it all away like that when she decided she’d rather be pleasant.

“I mean, what’s it doing that made you decide it was broken?” Ani asked. “It’s been a long time since I worked on a humidity collector, but I’m still a mechanic. I… I mean, I could help. If you want.”

“Oh Ani, that sounds wonderful.” Beru said. “I’m sure we’d figure it out on our own soon enough, but I’ve missed having a Skywalker in my workshop.”

Owen swallowed thickly and looked down at his hands, picking at his greasy calloused fingertips. Beru wrapped a hand in his hair and brushed it gently, and Owen didn’t doubt she wished she could reach all the way to Coruscant with the other and do the same for Ani.

“What do you say?” Beru prompted, when Ani’s silence stretched on. “How about Owen and I start telling you what’s been going on, and I send you some ‘pics of the disassembled parts we think are causing the problems, and you just tell us what you notice? Mom had dragon eyes, she could always see the things we missed, and I don’t doubt you’ll find something too.”

“…Yeah. That, uh, that sounds great.” Ani stammered. “I mean, yeah. I’d be happy to help you out. I’m good at figuring out how machines work, maybe I could catch something.”

“Perfect.” Beru said. “I’ll just go grab my ‘cam and bring it here so we can get you those ‘pics. Be back in a minute.”

Beru wormed out of Owen’s lap and stretched. Then, after a quick kiss, she went off in search of the old holocam.

“Thanks for doing this,” Owen said seriously, once Beru was out of the room.

“Of course. I’ve been a mechanic since I can remember, fixing machines is one of the only things that still makes sense.”

He hadn’t been thanking Ani for that, of course, but he knew better than to correct the misconception. Beru he may not be, but let it not be said that Owen had learned nothing from his wife over the years.

(One of those things he’d learned had been the tragic little frown that fell on her face when she felt she’d failed to help a new friend as well as she’d wanted to, and another was just what Owen would do to make sure he never had to see it again.)

“Still,” Owen said, “Thank you, brother. It’s just the two of us out here now. It means the moons to the both of us to have more family back in our lives.”

A lull, steady and full of quiet breaths.

Owen could hardly remember what his brother looked like, but he was becoming as familiar with the man’s breathing as he was with Beru’s, and it was intimate in a way he’d never imagined a comm connection could be.

“You’re welcome. It means a lot to me too. Brother.” Ani said faintly. “Your wife, Beru… she really is something.”

Owen laughed. “She certainly is! Though I might be biased. I’m sure your wife is something special too. You should bring her on next time you call.”

“Yeah, Padmé’s special.” Ani agreed. But this time his voice had lost its wistful quality, taking on something a bit darker that Owen couldn’t understand. “She’d love you. She’d love to meet you.”

“Good. That sounds good.” Owen said. “I know Beru would love that.”

Owen wasn’t sure where the nervous flutter in his stomach had come from exactly, and when Beru returned with the holocam and started going on about their vaporator troubles for Ani’s benefit, he dismissed it as not worth worrying about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yah, "mixing family" is definitely Beru's self-invented culturally sensitive way of referring to marriage, which is almost exclusively referred to as "mixing blood" on Tatooine. Because as far as Beru figures it, some people don't think of marriage as mixing blood, but she's pretty sure everybody thinks of it as mixing families.
> 
> There's gonna be some Big Drama from here on out, but I couldn't help a bit of softness in the meantime.


End file.
